


if you want to lie, just cross your fingers tight

by geeabee



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, i still dont know how to tag a fic, lowercase intended, yes i know i tagged both hurt/comfort and hurt no comfort deal with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geeabee/pseuds/geeabee
Summary: it feels as though technoblade jolts awake. coming to, he suddenly realizes his surroundings. his eyes land on ranboo. then dream. then tubbo. finally, he meets tommy’s eyes and he scowls in his direction, remembering where he was and why he was there. the memories that he just re-lived inside his conflicted mind feel like they just happened. he had only just begun to trust tommy, had only begun to think of them as good friends.| title is a lyric from hoops by green eyes, witch hands!
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	if you want to lie, just cross your fingers tight

**Author's Note:**

> this is fic #2! i almost didn't post this but my friend held me at gunpoint. this took me like a month and i am sick of looking at it in my google docs........i didn't really proofread it too much. i had the idea of techno and tommy sparring and then got carried away in the bullshit and the sleepy boi dynamics............i care them a lot this is literally pure self-indulgence and barely makes sense
> 
> the point of views are a bit odd, but to clear some shit up: the present tense in the flashbacks is there for a reason, hopefully it will all make sense in the end :] also italics _and_ bold are the voices in techno's head. this isn't canon, but the end part does contain canon parts and quotes so it's like,, 3/4s non-canon.
> 
> hope yall understand the subtext <3

standing in the mirror, he begins taking out his dangly earrings. they would rip right out of his ear, leaving a bloody ear chunk in their wake if tommy happened to catch them while swinging his sword. that would hurt like a bitch. he pulls his long, garnet-red cloak from over his shoulders, feeling his shoulders tense up from the breeze of his cool bedroom. he wets his fingertips and drags them through his greasy, salmon coloured hair, pulling it back into a loose braid that falls somewhere just below his shoulder blades. no need to shower if he would sweat right through his sparring gear; he didn’t mind because it meant that it would give him time to clear his mind in the shower later, covered by the fogged glass as fiery hot water hits his skin.

not that he didn’t enjoy his young roommate, he just simply wasn’t prepared to open his arms so graciously to another person so soon after his declared retirement. tommy was a character: easily excitable and snippy, often mindlessly babbling, whether techno was listening to his moronic thoughts or not. after seeing tommy so lost, his entire world taken from him, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the adolescent; he knew the feeling, _**but kept the knowledge of tommy’s relationship with the country —with its population that couldn’t care less about him— that gave him scars that cut deep, both tangible and intangible, at the centre of his mind.**_ he wasn’t actively ready for the commitment of another friendship, let alone one that would ultimately crumble and leave him feeling the weighted heartbreak by his lonesome. it was a dangerous game that technoblade was willing to play though, all for the price of some shallow company so he could feel at least a single connection to another human being with a beating heart —not that ghostbur was an annoying presence.

technoblade was used to speaking only to his immediate family, ghostbur and philza —quite the odd crew they made— but he didn’t mind. as much as he thought about finally leaving his family for the greater goods in life, he didn’t know if he could actually stand it. phil had offered _and_ given up so much for technoblade that he didn’t know if he should feel indebted to him or grateful towards him, but he figured that it fell somewhere between the two. he would be willing to let tommy into his world of bee farming and taking care of his many turtles; in fact, he was very in favour of it, but tommy’s past aggressions and actions didn’t go unnoticed in techno’s guarded mind. he didn’t like to think about it, rather he preferred to strain himself with busywork because it made him feel needed, but that was a whole other repressed internal habit that he wouldn’t unpack.

he splashes his face with cold water, letting it drip off of his face. he stares into the image of himself mirrored on the wall. he could faintly see his own silhouette in his eyes: one being a pale, almost white, grey and the other being the colour of fresh blood; they showed his determination, but hid his somberness. he frowned and, watching his reflection frown with him, his long, boar-like ears twitch slightly. he espies a forgotten earring and, reaching up to grab it, hears a harsh rasp on the door.

“fuck, technoblade. you’ve been in there for ages, i thought we were sparring today?” tommy shouts, continuing to knock harder, even though he knew techno could hear him. technoblade sighs and glances down at his hands, palms with healed gashes in them, calluses on his fingers, showing where he grips the various weapons he uses. he had always hated his long, unkempt fingernails that are permanently stained black from all the work he put into crafting, sharpening, and polishing his swords. the delicate gold hoop earring with a matte, sickly green jade gemstone in the shape of a teardrop hanging at the bottom still sits in his hand.

“tommy just give me a second. go sharpen your weapons before we go sparrin’. i wouldn’t want to hurt you too bad,” techno jokes, his expression remains stone-faced, though. he hears tommy scoff outside the door, his footsteps fall hard on the stone floor, getting quieter as they descend down the ladder. techno looks back up at his reflection. he stares until he can’t recognize himself anymore, then grabs his fluffy-collared robe and opens the door, slamming it behind him.

tommy has a stunned look on his face when techno lands on the second floor of his— their house, sitting on a low bench, his legs awkwardly bent in front of him as his sword sits in his hands, “aye big man, do you mind not slamming doors? i could’ve stabbed my eye out with how high you made me jump.” techno doesn’t look at him, instead he breezes past him and hangs his robe up on the metal hooks that are attached to the dark, grainy wood walls of their house.

“being jumpy wouldn’t help you in a fight, i hope you know,” techno grabs the sheath holding his expensive sword, clean and smooth, except for some minor nicks in it from past battles. he takes it out and runs his fingers over the nicks, remembering the past battles with dream and _**citizens of the country he so desperately wants to watch burn into smoky ash.**_ he avoids his reflection in the lustrous blade. technoblade returns the sword back to its rightful home and slides the strap of the leather sheath over his shoulders, where it sits diagonally across his chest, looping under his arm. without much thought, he runs his fingernails against the engraving of a crown on the worn leather; it makes an unpleasant ripping noise as he does so. he doesn’t take his crossbow, they plan on sparring with swords only; tommy needs practice in the basics of sword fighting.

“just because you have some sort of anger issues doesn’t mean that i should be the one losing an eye because of them, dickhead,” tommy means this light-heartedly, but a wave of crushing remorse washes over techno.

“are you ready to spar?” techno ignores the last comment...for now. that was something that he would ponder later, when the nights got especially lonely and the pity that he feels towards himself resurfaces, unable to hide in the shadows of his mind any longer.

“i have been ready for an hour, bitch. you were in your room, probably staring at yourself like the conceited prick you are,” tommy lets out an strangled laugh that techno finds himself smiling at, regardless of the joking hurtfulness of his words. it didn’t hit him as hard as the snide comment about anger issues. letting it slide, he pushes through the doors of their house, plundering in the half-melted snow as tommy follows behind him, complaining.

“why can’t you just, i don’t know, move some furniture around so we can spar inside. it’s bloody stupid that we have to practice outside,” techno can imagine the twisted up, disgusted face tommy is pulling that typically means he is disapproving of something.

“when your awful fighting skills gets something valuable of mine broken, then we won’t be sparrin’ at all,” techno bites back, turning to face him; there was no true malice in his voice though, he simply liked to fuck with tommy because it gets him ready for their long days of sparring matches. tommy drops his second sword on the ground, techno quickly swipes down and grabs it, leaning it against the old, gangly spruce tree to his right.

technoblade shoves down the ire that builds up in his throat, tommy is just a kid. “you can’t just throw my weapons around like they’re nothing, tommy,” techno warns, “you’ll have to mine for your own resources to make your own weapons if you keep it up,” tommy, who isn’t adamant about any sort of straining physical labour, shakes his head.

“i’m sorry, technoblade,” tommy says. he isn’t convinced that tommy will remember his rule about carelessly throwing his swords to the ground the next time. _**he finds it comical how tommy is so disrespectful of others’ belongings, but when it comes to his**_ discs— techno pushes the thought down; now isn’t the time.

“alright, tommy. let’s begin,” techno observes tommy, just as he does at the beginning of every sparring match. technoblade was the same height as tommy, but he always felt so much larger than him, so much stronger, too. _**he blames it on being used as a**_ — techno makes a spot for the thought so full of hot venom in the very back of his mind, where it would remain untouched. tommy’s slouched posture and mostly unbothered demeanor towards pretty much everything, makes him seem so much younger than he is. technoblade also recognizes the maturity that he possesses; two sides of the same coin. the contradiction of multiple prospects of his own personality always fucked with his head, made him feel like a hypocrite. he sees himself in tommy.

without any warning, technoblade unsheaths his sword, it glints in the already waning sunlight that is being obstructed by the grey clouds that hang overhead. he takes a single step back with his right foot, sword at eye level. from where he holds it in front of his face, the sword looks as though it’s pressed up against tommy’s neck. technoblade’s ears twitch as tommy positions himself in the same stance as his opponent, his sword is lowered more towards the middle of his chest.

technoblade holds his position, feet planted in place like a concrete mould. tommy bounces on the balls of his feet a little bit, pumping himself up with eagerness and smiling to himself about something totally lost on techno. in a few steps techno is upon tommy, their swords clanging against each other. as tommy pulls back, there is a sharp slicing sound as their swords move against each other. tommy goes for techno’s dominant arm and he almost succeeds in getting a hit; however, technoblade, anticipating the attack from years of battle experience and training, senses tommy’s simpleminded plan and swipes his sword down where it connects with tommy’s yet again hitching it in the air. technoblade lightens his grip on the end of his sword, making sure that tommy can get at least one hit on him. tommy breathes heavily and pushes with all his might to force techno’s sword back against his own neck. uncomfortable with tommy’s attempt at getting a cheap nick at his neck, technoblade pushes back. hard. tommy trips backwards and catches himself at the last moment.

tommy swears, “hey what the fuck, man,” and he looks at techno with blatant annoyance and disdain, “that needs to count as a hit,” tommy waits for techno to respond.

techno shrugs, “i suppose...but you know how much i hate when you go for the neck.”

“a point is a point. besides, dickhead, in a real battle, that would be incredibly useful,” tommy defends, believing that he’s made his point. techno only offers another shrug in his direction.

they ready themselves in their starting stances again, tommy makes the first move this time, stepping to the left side of technoblade, hoping that he would falter when he steps to face tommy. he doesn’t, of course. tommy grunts with annoyance at techno’s skill and stabs his sword forward. technoblade steps back at the movement, putting more distance between them than when they started.

“stab only when you go in for the kill,” technoblade explains, “or else, you’ll force them back like you did me and you’ll never be able to land a hit when you’re constantly pushin’ your opponent away from you. slicin’ and swipin’ motions, tommy,” tommy heeds techno’s advice, giving him a weak nod. technoblade regains his focus on the match ahead of him. tommy takes two steps in, swinging his sword forcefully in a diagonal swoosh that catches on techno’s armour. while tommy is distracted by the clanking of sword against armour, techno takes one step forward and places the blade against tommy’s neck, his firm skin gives in slightly under the weighty blade of his sword. they stare at each other for a few seconds, scoffing and blowing hot breaths in each others’ face. technoblade steps back, sheathing his sword.

“that’s where your shield would come in handy. it’s harder to get exposure to the soft parts of your body, like your neck, if you don’t have a shield. i suppose we’ll need to bring those in at some point, too,” technoblade pants faintly; the sun in the arctic is just as powerful as in the desert.

tommy shoves his shoulder saying, “so you can get neck hits, but i can’t? how unfair of a prick can you be?”

“i never said you _couldn’t_ go for the neck, i said i _hate_ when you go for the neck. fact versus opinion,” techno clarifies.

tommy mumbles something, but it’s incomprehensible to techno. it was probably just some shitty comeback. they spar for three more rounds; tommy gains two more hits on techno. it’s been the first time he’s ‘won’ their sparring matches in a few weeks. when the sun starts to set and the night sky peaks just over the horizon, they start to head in. tommy grabs his second sword and rushes to catch up to technoblade.

techno ruffles tommy’s hair, knowing how much he hates it, “you did good today, for someone so uncoordinated. i think you may be able to hit a few good spots if you continue to practice on your own,” techno hopes his childish words of encouragement aren’t lost on tommy as they walk back to their house.

“i think it’s just because i have an unfair disadvantage when fighting you. you know i’m a minor right?” tommy lets out a vivacious laugh that echoes across the barren lands that surround their house in the arctic wasteland they live in. techno doesn’t find it very funny, but inside he feels warmth bloom in his chest at the jokes being passed between them like they were...friends.

before tommy heads to his designated bedroom in the stony basement of their house, he grabs technoblade by the shoulder, pulling him in for an awkward hug. without acknowledging it, he turns and climbs down the ladder; techno watches until his ratty, blonde hair disappears underneath him.

— — —

he grabs the dinner plates from the chest in the corner of the room, along with wooden spoons. heading over to the dinner table, he catches the soup boil in his peripheral vision. he sets the dinnerware down and goes to take it off the heat of the fireplace. he hears a knock on his door, signifying that ghostbur and phil have made it; just in time, too. as he thinks about getting the door tommy yells “coming!” from the bottom of the basement ladder. technoblade has more setting up to attend to anyway.

“boys! how are you!” tommy greets them, his voice pitches high out of excitement. technoblade, his father, and his twin brother never even had a ‘family dinner’ by themselves; oddly enough, he assumes that it must be tommy’s bold presence that brings people together. tommy had come up with the idea after one of their longer sparring matches, saying that he misses the feeling of togetherness. technoblade couldn’t say no to a child that has lost so much, his most trusted best friend thousands of miles away from him, _**upkeeping the country he**_ — it’s inappropriate to say harsh words of your...friend’s friend. tubbo wasn’t his friend, though, and he doubted that he ever will be.

“tommy!” ghostbur, carrying blue in his offhand, offers some to tommy, his echoey voice carrying to techno’s ears. tommy accepts the offer —kinder than technoblade has seen from him in a while— keeping it in his pocket where it will be safe. phil catches technoblade’s eye and strides over, leaving ghostbur and tommy to catch up briefly.

“hey,” philza says brightly, “mind if i help finish up?”

“yeah, you could get the butter from the refrigerator and the bread from the windowsill,” technoblade sighs, happy for some offering of help from his father; he knows that tommy would never lend a helping hand unless his life depended on it. phil was always so gracious, he wonders if he will ever be as gracious to phil as he has been to him. phil comes back with the butter and bread in his hands, and techno follows him to the table, pot of hot soup in his mitted hands.

tonight they decided on rabbit stew because tommy had extra rabbit meat from his excursion a few days prior. he wanted to find a rabbit’s foot, which he cleverly named ‘foot’. when he heard tommy bound through the door that day, ‘foot’ in hand, he felt a rush of pride well up in him. tommy had looked so proud of himself and technoblade had gladly shared the pleasant atmosphere with him. it felt normal, seeing tommy more animated from his recent dejected mood.

setting down the soup on the open area of the dining room table, technoblade called for ghostbur and tommy. phil peers at technoblade out of the corner of his eye.

“how’s he been?” philza lowers his voice. tommy and ghostbur weren’t upstairs yet, but they would be soon and phil didn’t want tommy catching their offhanded conversation about him. his wings twitch, as if they’re attempting to shield their private conversation from the ears of tommy downstairs.

“um...i think he’s been alright. you can see the hurt in him at night. i think we’ve been gettin’ along better than i anticipated, though,” technoblade looks down, thinking about how it would feel if tommy had left him. how there would probably wouldn’t be another family dinner. how they wouldn’t get to spar with someone at dawn, the rising sun casting soft morning glow, up until the monsters peek around corners at night, disrupting them so much so that they have to go back inside. phil notices the weighty silence that hangs on nooses around them. it kills him.

phil reaches his hand out and squeezes techno’s shoulder, giving him an affirming nod. their conversation ends just as quickly as it begins because tommy and ghostbur poke their faces out from the top of the ladder. hoisting themselves up, they walk over to take their seats at the dinner table.

“care to join us?” ghostbur says with a mighty smile that dissipates the heavy air around philza and technoblade. at the same time, they waltz over to the table, techno sits next to tommy and phil sits next to ghostbur.

“big t, you mind?” tommy asks technoblade, gesturing to the large pot of soup at his end of the table. phil reaches for some bread, slicing it and taking a piece to set down on his own plate. techno’s hand grasps the ladle and tommy’s bowl as he carefully pours two scoops full of juicy rabbit stew. philza and ghostbur pipe up at who gets the next bowl of soup. ghostbur wins the argument and hands his empty bowl over to techno.

“didn’t know you had other skills other than brooding and being a massive dick, technoblade,” tommy almost chokes on a piece of carrot from laughing at his own joke. philza lets out a sharp cackle, as does ghostbur. technoblade only offers a glare and a mischievous smile in tommy’s direction.

ghostbur chimes in “i actually think technoblade is quite talented.”

technoblade stops right in the middle of pouring philza’s stew, “you _just_ laughed at the joke tommy made about me, ghostbur,” his states exasperatedly. tommy belts out another strangled laugh.

“just hand me my stew, technoblade. dinner hasn’t even officially started and you guys are already fucking around with each other,” philza jokes in the midst of ghostbur’s distress of being called out by technoblade. his leathery wings open wide from his shoulder blades, prompted by the good mood. techno reaches directly across from him to hand phil his stew at long last. then, he begins to dish out his own, putting the lid on the pot when he’s done to keep the rabbit stew warm and ready for second helpings.

tommy leans forward, elbows on the table, “big p, big p. no need to worry, man. if you lived with me you would get shit for everything, too.”

philza shakes his head, not out of annoyance, but out of sheer admiration for tommy’s ability to remain true to himself at all times. phil smiles at tommy from across the table. technoblade observes how tommy’s loud facade fades just for a few seconds as he looks at philza and the room goes silent for those few seconds but it feels deafening. his eyes quickly glance over at ghostbur, who seems entirely oblivious to the situation.

“ghostbur, how has bein’ _ghostly_ been lately?” technoblade tries changing the subject. ghostbur tells them all about his new friend, a cobalt blue-coloured sheep, that he named ‘friend’. he likes to show off friend at any moment and it ends up being the conversation topic for the next half an hour. ghostbur can’t seem to take his mind off of friend once he begins speaking of him. none of them mind the light mood that settles over them like a cloudy fog.

their wooden spoons and bowls lay on the table until philza gets up from his seat at the table. he circles the table, picking up the dirty dishes as he walks along and heads towards the sink that’s already piled with dirty dishes. the conversation has lulled a little bit as tommy began bringing up how to attract women, so phil and technoblade felt as though that was their cue to leave. technoblade grabs the empty pot that used to be filled with rabbit stew.

“that went quite well, don’t you think?” philza asks technoblade as he walks over to the sink next to phil.

technoblade scoffs slightly, “yeah, i thought that the rabbit was going to be a bit tough, but i’m glad that it didn’t end up that way.”

philza chuckles breathlessly as he reaches for the sponge in the sink, adding soap and beginning to rub the sponge in small, continuous circles over the wooden surface of the bowl, “i didn’t mean the soup, i meant the dinner overall,” technoblade’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t show much emotion other than that.

“oh, uh, yeah i think that it went really well. i’m glad that ghostbur started talkin’ about friend when he did. i’m not sure i would have been able to catch the fall durin’ the silence,” technoblade admits.

philza nods knowingly, “yeah i get it. i know that you and i don’t have these conversations that often…” phil shakes his hand to fling a piece of mushy carrot off his finger, “but i really care about you, technoblade. you can talk to me about tommy if you need to. i think i’m starting to understand him a little bit better now.”

techno looks out the window of their cottage in the arctic wasteland. he doesn’t know what to say to phil in this moment. he doesn’t know whether tommy can be trusted, or if tommy trusts him. he’s been calling him a friend lately, but was that true? was it actually technoblade’s loneliness hiding in another cheap costume again? his conflicted feelings suddenly fly around his head like a tornado. the winds of the thought-tornado blow his rational thoughts around and he can’t catch them all. he presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. he feels phil’s hand on his shoulder and his other hand pulling him into a hug. they were barely touching, but he feels phil’s warmth all the same.

philza brings his voice to a whisper, “i know that it’s hard to open yourself up to others. i know. he’s just a kid and he’s really missing his best friend. you can remember these memories if he does leave, but you have to live them _right now_ or else you won’t have them. you’ve been hurt in the past, but i know how strong you are. i believe in you, technoblade,” techno’s ears pull back in defense. his mind calms just enough to mutter a _‘thank you’_ into phil’s shoulder.

they pull away from each other, philza straightens out his green and white, striped bucket hat and continues their chore. in the dining room, they can hear tommy’s booming voice talking nonsense with ghostbur. both of them laugh fondly when tommy says something idiotic, as they do so often.

technoblade contemplates philza’s words in between the bursts of short laughter. the same thoughts surface from before. deep down, he is so scared for the future. he wants to believe that tommy is a friend, but how can he be sure? _**the people that he thought would take him in betrayed him in the most backstabbing way possible, taking advantage of him and his hard work**_ — he sighs and goes to sit back down, leaving phil to finish up; he would feel guilty about that later. the longer he stays with tommy, the more comfortable he gets, but the thick walls stand tall in his mind, guarding his most private, precious thoughts. is this really a friendship if he feels like he has to put up walls to block himself from tommy? what does friendship mean to him?

philza sits at the dinner table after completely cleaning the mountain of dirty dishes that plagued techno and tommy’s sink. technoblade and phil make eye contact and techno can see understanding and sadness in his sapphire eyes. he shifts awkwardly.

“let’s play rummy, boys?” tommy suggests quizzically, ignoring their odd glances at each other. they share a unanimous vote to play rummy and tommy runs to grab the deck of cards from his dwelling in the basement. he brings them up and they smell of mud, damp and stained with what technoblade can only imagine to be dirt; no wonder they smell so earthy.

the rest of the night, and well into the morning of the next day, they play cards, chat about themselves, and enjoy smooth laughter that fills the house with what sounds like a permanent echo of the four of them letting out hearty laughs. the anxious thoughts that filled techno’s mind before, hush themselves while they play. taking philza’s words into account from earlier, he relishes in the moment that would soon become a memory of his. the past and future cannot harm him while the present is watching over him.

— — —

technoblade squints his eyes, the sun beginning to wash the earth in a soft, dewy glow of orange. as much as he would like to push his comforter over his eyes and sleep until the late afternoon, he has a responsibility to attend to.

he sits up in bed and squishes his face in his hands, making a sour face when his two sharp, curved bottom teeth stab into his cheeks. sighing and stretching, he stands up from bed. not even bothering to put on real clothes, he pulls on his leather boots and descends the ladder; skipping past the main floor, he lands his feet firmly on the ground level of their house. taking a deep breath he walks over to grab tools from the chests on the opposite side of the room. he fills his hands with empty glass bottles and flowers yet to be planted. once he finds a particularly careful way of holding onto everything so none of his supplies fall and break, he heads towards the wooden doors adjacent to him.

he pushes the door open with his shoulder and the fresh, brisk morning air hits his face. his cheeks turn a light pink colour and his nose a brighter shade of red as he walks toward carl’s stable at the front of his house. he breathes in the smell of the pure, unfiltered air and clumps of hay.

“hey there, boy,” he coos at carl, pressing his face into carl’s long, chocolate brown muzzle, “i hope we’ll get to ride together soon. i miss our evening adventures,” he smiles at his horsey-friend, as kind as he can muster, hoping to send a calming, friendly message to carl. he presses a small kiss on the white stripe on his nose and walks away.

the walk he takes is short, but cold nonetheless. he kicks the door to the building open and it swings smoothly, revealing the warm interior of the makeshift bee house. he can hear the muted buzzing sound of the bees in their respective colonies. he places the tools he brought on the table next to him. he didn’t need the safety garment that beekeepers would normally wear when fearful of receiving a piercing sting. he had been doing this for a few weeks, he was new to it, but he felt a connection to the small, flitting creatures. they lived their respective lives, each of them attending to their own duties, but somehow they found each other. the bees gave him honey and technoblade gave them a protected building to create families in. he thought about their relationship like the country he used to be a part of helping one another, a somewhat respectable companionship, _**until they**_ — now was _his_ time. it was technoblade’s time to leave those thoughts at the entrance of the bee house. the bees would not judge him here. he returns to his regularly scheduled caretaking duties for his mini, flying friends.

as much as he tries, the thoughts rumbling in the back of his head roll forth like distant, threatening thunder while he carries out the bee-related tasks. his multitude of dogs and his dear horse felt more necessary to him than the bees did, though. they _needed_ each other. the bees and him were just two separate entities living comfortably, a give and take relationship. his personal pets needed him _and_ wanted him around; he can tell from their eyes, when he scratches behind one of his dogs’ ears or when he smoothes out the hair on carl’s mane.

it felt different than with humans. he knows that the animals he loves so dearly cannot answer him when he speaks, but they share a bond that he doesn’t have with other humans— except maybe his father and...ghostbur. his pets were enough for him, regardless of how he dreamed of feeling wanted by others. he wanted to be free to call someone in a panicked time of need and they would walk him through it, calming him down. as much as he loved his father, he felt like a burden to him. he opens up to his father —and on rare occasions, ghostbur— when he is in desperate need of a hug, a touch of comfort, calming words that tumble from phil’s mouth, or just a chat in order to take his mind off of his loneliness. he liked the company his father gave him, he was a constant in techno’s melancholy, anger-filled life. technoblade can’t keep his thoughts together anymore and he sits down on the grassy floor of the bee house, his head tilts back against the hard wood of the table’s leg just behind him. he just needs a second.

he enjoyed the feeling of being needed, but preferred the feeling of being wanted around the others; they were different and he hated only being needed. after all, he was only _**the blade**_ to everyone else. he knew that phil needed him _and_ wanted him around. his father and him often spent nights together, when ghostbur was visiting his old ‘friends’ of l’man— he didn’t even want to think of country’s the name. he felt sorry for ghostbur; he was unable to remember the amount of hurt he caused to the citizens. he could only laugh bitterly at ghostbur trying to repair the already shattered, estranged relationship with his past. the poor soul could just barely remember what he did, and even then, it was surface level. technoblade only feels sorry for ghostbur though; they were still brothers, _twins._ he loved ghostbur, but he knew that he had never found a way to release himself from the haunting and pain caused by him. often, he found himself wanting his real brother back, warm at the touch instead of lifeless and so, so cold. he missed his cream coloured skin, that would blush and get reddened with anger or embarrassment, but now ghostbur only remained the same pale grey-blue colour that had became technoblade’s least favourite colour. he realizes that he wasn’t thinking about the relationship between his pets and him anymore.

he lets the thoughts flow through his brain, now unable —or more so, unwilling— to stop them from coming. lastly, he thinks of tommy and the bond they have created from the past two months. he feels like he can finally accept tommy. the conclusion of this doesn’t stop the negative thoughts from stabbing at technoblade. tommy wasn’t consistent and his intent on getting back to his old home makes techno feel uncomfortable. he doesn’t deny the contentment he feels when tommy and him sit down together at night, the fireplace flickering in the corner of the living room, tommy curled up on the couch, writing to-do lists and whatever thoughts came to mind. techno would glance over at him every so often, noticing how his face glowed in the soft tangerine light of the burning fire. technoblade would continue to read as his legs draped over the side of the armchair and his long hair touching the floor when he tilted his head back. technoblade couldn’t help but notice his vision has blurred and he feels liquid drip down his face, sliding down his neck until his shirt absorbs it.

he hears a soft knock on the door and he quickly stands up, rubbing his thick silk shirt over his eyes. he apprehensively walks towards the door, opening it just a crack.

“hey, big t,” tommy greets, his hands in his pockets. he isn’t wearing a coat and techno was sure that he is feeling the regret of choosing to do so on such a brisk morning. technoblade didn’t plan on inviting him in, but until he saw his lack of appropriate attire he decided that he would; he ushers the kid into the bee house. when technoblade looks back over at him, tommy is rubbing his hands together rapidly.

“you should really start wearin’ a coat. if you wanted to, you could’ve borrowed my cloak, it was hangin’ by the chests on the first floor,” techno says this with his back turned to tommy as he continues to rub his face, hoping that he can hide his swollen eyes that were red around the edges.

“that’s okay, it was a short walk,” tommy replies, leaning against the table. “i could hear you, you know. from beyond the door,” he deliberately and slowly states, as to not alarm technoblade. technoblade stops and turns towards him cautiously.

“i didn’t know you were there. i-” techno sighs and places the palm of his hand to his forehead and grips the bangs of his hair firmly in his hand. he doesn’t know what to say. he’s never shared such an intimate action around tommy. how does he approach this? what would he say to phil?

“it’s okay, technoblade. i’m not good at this comforting thing, but i can try if you’d like?” tommy straightens his back slightly, standing up from the table. technoblade doesn’t let tommy onto the array of emotions rattling in his brain. he feels shocked and abashed and worried and angry for letting himself slip up like this.

“um, tommy?” tommy makes a ‘hmm’ sound in response, “maybe just stay here and sit with me for a bit?” it takes a long moment for the words to escape past his lips. tommy sits down on the grass and pats down a seat next to him. technoblade stares at him, stunned to see the maturity in tommy’s face. for once, he actually feels smaller than tommy. he shuffles over and sits with his legs criss-cross under him.

is this what friends do? is this what it feels like to have company other than your old father? technoblade feels his heart beat in his chest, anxious to be letting someone in so close to his mind. for a moment, he notices the calmness he feels around tommy, like when they sit in their living room, breathing and existing together so pleasantly, like when tommy first brought up the idea of a family dinner. technoblade holds back a short burst of laughter; he regrets doing so. he becomes aware of the salty tears on his face again. tommy places his hand on technoblade’s knee. techno rubs his eyes again, but it doesn’t hinder the stream of tears that flow down his face. techno places his hand on top of tommy’s gingerly, like he’s scared to touch him. if this is what friends do then maybe technoblade can let someone else into his heart, into his mind.

“are you okay?” technoblade can feel tommy’s gaze on him. tommy’s voice is sincere and lacks the typical boyish tone that it normally possesses; it only makes technoblade shake with adrenaline.

technoblade side-steps the question, only to reply with a different question, “tommy, are we friends?”

tommy lets out a short chuckle and technoblade understands that it isn’t meant to be mocking. “technoblade, i would say that we are friends. would strangers let someone crash at their house after they get exiled? would a stranger comfort another stranger in a bee house?” techno snorts after the words leave his mouth. it was typical of tommy to conduct a light mood, even in times of sadness and weakness.

“i guess not,” technoblade says in return. everytime he speaks he becomes conscious of the fact that more tears spill out of his eyes.

tommy must take notice, too, saying: “you don’t have to say anything. i can tell it’s hard for you,” technoblade recognizes the familiarity of those words; that was phil’s signature way of comforting him, open and willing to let technoblade chose if he wants to reveal what he’s thinking, or keep it locked away. he sighs and places an arm around tommy’s shoulder, hoping that he takes the hint.

they embrace for another one of the very few times they ever have. technoblade melts into it, feeling puny and young in the arms of tommy. it reminds him of his father’s tight hugs that he would offer when technoblade would get a scrape or a cut when he would miss a hit and fall down during a sparring match with wilbur in their childhood. he didn’t think that tommy would have such an effect on him, _**given that he was still willing to fight for the country that**_ — technoblade finally finds it in himself to close the door on the negative thought, keeping it locked there.

“what do you say we collect some honey? maybe plant some more flowers for the bees?” tommy offers as technoblade’s tears dry and his sobs quiet.

techno smiles at him weakly “i say, let’s do it.” tommy stands up first, posing a hand in techno’s direction. he takes it and tommy hoists him up. they go about carefully collecting honey from the bees and planting delicate lifeforms in the rich soil. they tell jokes and make effortless conversation in the mean time.

they walk back to the cottage in silence after finishing up in the bee house, the mid afternoon sunlight blocked by dense clouds. when they enter the abode, tommy rushes off upstairs while techno puts the extra supplies that were not needed in their respective chests. he climbs the ladder, only to find tommy, cozied up on the couch, with his cloak wrapped around his shoulders and a mug of warmed apple cider in his hand.

tommy looks over at him, finally noticing his presence at the top of the ladder. his eyes were wide and techno found amity in them. he senses the change of mood in the atmosphere. tommy is back to his loud, exuberant self, with playful, child-like features. he’s back to his younger self; younger than he did in the bee house. he’s just a kid in a man’s shoes.

“hey! i warmed you up some apple cider,” he gestured to the small table next to the airchair that technoblade always finds himself settling down into at night, “oh, and i was cold so i uh, i borrowed your cloak like you said i could.” he smiles towards technoblade and it seems to remedy all the lonely thoughts that he had earlier.

“thank you, child,” technoblade removes his leather boots and slides over to the armchair, sitting down in a comfortable position, his long ears settling downwards with content as he does so. he takes the warm ceramic mug in his hand, glad to have something to keep the fire lit inside him.

— — —

it feels as though technoblade jolts awake. coming to, he suddenly realizes his surroundings. his eyes land on ranboo. then dream. then tubbo. finally, he meets tommy’s eyes and he scowls in his direction, remembering where he was and why he was there. the memories that he just re-lived inside his conflicted mind feel like they just happened. he had only just begun to trust tommy, had only begun to think of them as good friends. it was typical, another one of his so called ‘buddies’ stabbing him in the back and leaving him to bleed out, gasping for a sense of reality while they walked away unbothered. so fucking typical. he grits his teeth.

the memories that he had once held so dear to him, the memories that he had made for the past three months with tommy, felt like...they felt like nothing to him anymore.

“what the fuck, tommy?” he spits. his heart beats fast and his hands feel sweaty, grip sliding down slightly on his sword, which is pointed directly at tommy. he readjusts himself. technoblade knows that he needs to collect his emotions or else he’ll break down. he was furious, but that didn’t even amount to the grief-stricken pang he felt in his lungs everytime he breathed. maybe he was made of misery.

“technoblade…” tommy starts, but techno doesn’t let him finish. technoblade steps towards him, his sword presses against his neck, harder than it ever did during their sparring matches.

 _ **kill him. kill him. kill him. you know you want to.**_ the voices in technoblade’s brain come rushing forth all at once. _**just do it. fucking do it.**_

technoblades eyes burn with fire while he stares tommy down, breath hot in his face, blowing tommy’s hair upwards with every exhale. it feels like tommy and him and the only two people there, in the wrecked community house, another sign that everything was beginning to turn to shit right in front of his eyes.

tubbo is the one that reminds him that they aren’t alone; he steps forward, axe pointed at techno’s side, his eyes squint at technoblade. techno only chuckles at the sight in his peripheral vision. tubbo was the fucking reason that tommy was betraying him, tubbo was always the reason.

swiftly, technoblade whips out his crossbow, bolt at the ready and points it in the area between tubbo’s furrowed brows. he keeps his sword pressed at tommy’s neck, daring to spill tommy’s juvenile blood in front of everyone.

 _ **two birds with one stone. right where you want them. do it.**_ the voices in his head are taunting him, _begging_ him to take the shot aimed for tubbo’s eyes, _begging_ him to slit tommy’s throat. he could take both of their precious last lives and crush them in his grip. they would die together, the others’ death would be the last image they see before they sink into the foreboding sleep that they will never wake up from. _**finally.**_

“i don’t think you want to try anything with me,” techno growls at tubbo. tubbo’s facial expression isn’t fazed, but he finds the weakness and fear in his eyes. _**shut up and kill them.**_

“that’s my friend you’re about to murder, technoblade,” tubbo says, his voice wavering when he utters techno’s name. _**good, we want him fearful of us. we want him to beg for his and his best friend’s useless lives.**_ the voice is like an alarm sounding in his head and he feels a headache beginning to grow, his ears twitch back.

he looks around for a split second at the faces looking down at him from above, perched atop the shambles of the community house. he looks at fundy, his eyes are wide and his furry, orange and black-tipped ears are alert. he looks at quackity, who holds his sword at waist-level. he looks to ranboo, and finds something unreadable in his eyes; once they make eye contact, ranboo looks down at the floor, his tail wraps around his hips and he grabs the shaggy ball of fluff at the end of it. finally, he looks towards dream, his taunting smiley mask stares at him, the crack above his head making the already uncanny mask look daunting. he turns back towards tommy.

“i defended you, tommy! i was willing to defend you until the end.” techno shouts.

“technoblade. i love you like a brother, but…” tommy directs his sight towards tubbo, continuing to stare into tubbo’s eyes he says, “tubbo is my best friend. the only person that i’ve ever felt truly connected to. i don’t regret the time we spent together, the nights we shared in your living room, cozied up and coexisting. i just…” tommy cuts himself off. techno notices the change in possession; he says ‘your house’ and not ‘our house’, even though he got used to saying it from all those months together. it feels foreign, hearing tommy speak of their house like that. his headache only grows into a rumbling, dust storm, the pieces of debris from him and tommy’s crumbling brotherhood coming together, rushing to and fro in techno’s mind.

he tries, “we could pearl out...i’d cover your escape, tommy. we can still get out of here tommy, we can regroup. we can plan for another day, tommy,” he whispers this, so quietly he thinks tommy doesn’t even hear the suggestion enter his ears. he hopes tubbo couldn’t hear his plead. the voice in his head shouts at him. _**what are you doing? you don’t need to save him. you fucking coward, can’t live without one stupid child. he is nothing to you.**_

he tries to fight the voice; it’s clouding his judgement and he can’t stand its spitting words. he wants to make tommy see him. the real him, just once more. the blossom of hope blooms in his chest as tommy’s eyes widen.

“technoblade. i told you,” tommy gently pushes his hand against technoblade’s, “tubbo and i are one. together and forever. i can’t be myself without him.” tommy cups his hands around techno’s reddened cheeks. the voice continues to mock his weakness as technoblade lets tommy hold his face delicately. _**you should kill him. his guard is down. you fucking coward.**_

technoblade can’t help it. he stares into tommy’s eyes and he can swear that he sees his soul. the soul of a child, too young to be in such a difficult position. too young to understand the detriment he is causing. too young to continue to stay strong. he sees the innocence that tommy hides so well; the youthful glow he once possessed so much of —seeming as though it lived in him infinitely— causing his eyes to sparkle like sunlight reflecting on an aqua sea, has faded. there’s trepidation in his soul. a sharp pain shoots into and lingers in techno’s chest. it’s pent up guilt, shame, filth, anger; he softens, just slightly. his eyes cast down toward the trail of blood that beads in the seam of where he placed his sword so close to his major artery. he could have killed tommy, one swift slice is all it would take. _**part of you still wants to,**_ the voice reminds him. technoblade loosens the pressing of his sword from tommy’s throat.

“i’m sorry,” is all technoblade can muster without fully breaking down. he feels nauseous and for a split second he thinks he’s going to throw up on tommy. tommy’s hands make their way to the nape of techno’s neck. technoblade can feel the strands of his hair being pulled into tommy’s nervous, sweaty grasp. he realises, as tommy pushes his neck forward, that he is initiating an embrace. techno ducks away from the trying embrace; the shudder he feels as tommy slips away from him makes his head spin. _**you still have a chance to kill all of them. drink the strength potion, hold your sword confidently, and free your rage unto everyone.**_

tommy looks at tubbo again as he says, “i’m worse than everyone i didn’t want to be.”

techno shakes his head and grips his sword until his knuckles turn white. “think hard before you make this decision, tommy, because you can’t undo this,” techno inhales, holds his breath, as if it’s going to make tommy change his mind.

“i’m so sorry. techno, i know what i’ve done and i hate me for it,” from farther away, tommy looks like a man. technoblade understands him enough to know what is in his soul, his unfaltering demeanor, feigned strength. _**he won’t change his mind, so take your bow and shoot him directly between his eyes. watch the life drain from them.**_ the voice continues to laugh at him.

tubbo closes the space between him and tommy, and wraps his arm around tommy’s shoulders. tommy goes rigid under him, still on-edge. tubbo pushes his head against tommy’s; techno watches as tommy gives him a queasy smile. dream barks out a laugh from techno’s right side. techno observes as dream takes his newly-gained disc in his gloved hands, his fingertips peeking out from above the leather fabric as he twirls the disc around carelessly.

“you fucking idiot,” dream directs the intentions of his wrathful words towards tubbo, “ you just gave me exactly what i need to control this...this kingdom of spineless idiots,” he barks another round of emotionless laughter.

tubbo looks at tommy, hoping he’ll cut in to say something before he does. tommy doesn’t say anything, instead he studies the ground intensely. _**they’re all distracted you can still murder them ruthlessly. take what you want.**_

technoblade can’t stand to watch the situation unfold. discreetly, technoblade pulls out an ender pearl, glimmering with purple puffs of glittering smoke coming from its aura; the eye stares at him expectantly. dream, tommy, and tubbo are too caught up in arguing to notice techno’s grip on the pearl, his only way out of this hell. 

he glances to his left side, catching ranboo’s heterochromatic eyes. ranboo nods in his direction. technoblade then looks up and grazes over the gaze of thirty pairs of eyes. thankfully, none of them are paying any mind to him, to the ender pearl he holds delicately in his hand. techno winds his arm back and lets it fly through the air, a trail of the purple, hazy smoke following behind it. he turns and sprints in the opposite direction of its path, hoping to catch the others off guard. only those at the top notice his escape. dream and the others in the middle of the shambles don’t even bat an eye.

all except one. he glances behind his shoulder and descries the sentimental, sorrowful expression on tommy’s baby-face; he slows his sprint down, turning his body to face tommy, chest heaving. he feels the weight of tommy’s mien and understands how truly sorry he is. _**you can’t feel pity for him. you can’t accept his wordless apology,**_ the voice warns him. his eyes burn with emotion and dryness and a single tear rolls down his face, tickling as it drips off his chin. 

he is suddenly being thrusted through harsh wind, crashing to the ground in front of the burbling, interdimensional portal.

he doesn’t even get to witness tommy’s eyes widen, tears also spilling over his flushed face.

technoblade is quickly running through the searing nether. the tears evaporate as soon as they leave his tear ducts. his eyes burn with the heat as he chugs a fire resistance potion, hoping the stinging in his eyes will cease if he’s immune to the scorching blaze. just a few more yards and he’s home.

as he steps out of the portal, he quietly watches in the windows as philza pitter-patters around the house. he knows that phil has been anxiously awaiting his return. technoblade trudges towards the cottage.

how can he face the lonely, aching house if tommy isn’t here to share the warmth of the fireplace when the night is still and black? he can’t tell if he would rather be alone or with company. he decides that he shouldn’t worry about that right now.

just as he stops outside the door, he hears ghostbur’s echoey voice resonate through the wooden doors. he wonders just how long ghostbur has been keeping phil company. he presses a hand against the door and shoves it forward slowly. when the door is wide open, it reveals how disheveled techno appears. his faded pink hair has fallen out of its originally tight, high ponytail, his face and eyes are puffy from exhausted tears, his ears are turned towards the ground.

“where’s…” ghostbur asks, but phil cuts him off, ghosting a hand in front of his hollow chest. technoblade steps through the door and shuts it with a soft click.

“he’s...he’s not coming back,” technoblade murmurs as he brings his eyes to phil’s gentle, but worried face. phil steps up to technoblade, his arms meet techno’s shoulders as his scaly wings, donned with talons at the end, envelop them into a tight embrace, forcing their cheeks to press together. technoblade sheds his emotions into his father’s tunic, feeling his knees give out underneath him. philza holds him closer, as they sink to the floor together; the fragility of his son breaks his heart.

philza sighs into techno’s frizzy hair, “i’m so sorry, son. it’s not your fault,” phil runs his hand through techno’s hair, feeling techno’s body tremble. ghostbur watches idly as they share such a tender moment, until he finally hovers forward to meet them. technoblade feels cold, barely-there hands meet the sides of his face as ghostbur pulls his face up to meet his eyes.

“we are still here for you, techno,” and with that ghostbur leans forward and plants a feeble kiss to his forehead. the action only causes techno to sob out loud; phil cradles him in order to muffle the broken sobs. philza’s wings invite ghostbur to join their gentle hug, wrapping back around them as he accepts the invite.

“we are still here for you,” phil repeats ghostbur’s words. it’s not long until phil realizes that technoblade’s cries have turned into soft snores. they stay huddled on the floor until philza also finds his eyes drifting in and out of restless sleep.

it isn’t long until ghostbur is the only one left awake. he doesn’t need to sleep, so instead he revels in the comfort he’s able to bring to his defeated brother. if he had a heart, he is sure that his pulse would match the steady beat of techno’s.

he lays his faint head against his father’s neck as he closes his eyes, lulling into a fake sleep, wishing he could feel the warmth radiating from their bodies.

**Author's Note:**

> okay hey yall. more works are maybe on the way although i do take a lot of psychic damage by posting. perhaps u could find me on tumblr @ time4fundy :)
> 
> i have so many different headcanons for these two and this one is simply Angst thanks


End file.
